


The Benediction

by magistralucis (Solitary_Shadow)



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Backstory, Dictator AU, Food Porn, Gender Neutral Pronouns (Discussed), Literary References, M/M, NSFW, Past Relationship(s), Slash, Slice of Life, Smut, introspective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 17:59:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11236257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solitary_Shadow/pseuds/magistralucis
Summary: "Say, Franck… next week, won’t you spend some time with me?”Backstory to an@akchotesuggestionnarrative. Two young journalists go on holiday together.Alone together and away from prying eyes, they manage to get alotdone nevertheless.[Franck Rivoire/Gesaffelstein, set in a Dictator AU, though it's not massively important for story purposes. NSFW.]





	The Benediction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: I do not know anyone mentioned in this story personally, this is strictly a work of fiction and I do not profit from nor claim to represent true aspects of their lives in this story.**
> 
> I have been promising this since forever and it's finally here! This is really backstory to a far longer and more recent narrative going on in [@akchotesuggestion](http://akchotesuggestion.tumblr.com), where much of the characters' situations have changed. Franck in @akchotesuggestion is no longer a definite 'he', for one; they're genderfluid. (Here 'he/him' is used to reflect the past when this was taking place, but Franck is never referred to as a 'man' directly, and 'he/they' are also used to refer to Franck when being talked _about_ by other people.) Their living situation has become intimately tied up with the Dictator AU of that blog, and the Gesa of that narrative disappointed them greatly. The Franck/Gesa relationship is a foregone conclusion, if you follow that blog; it doesn’t work out, and it’s _important_ that it doesn’t work out, as well as the fact that it once did. This is a story where nothing bad happens, but I suppose that doesn’t really mean much, knowing that it falls apart - at best, the beautiful things that are written in it are wistful recollections of a time that can’t and shouldn’t return. 
> 
> But this was a time when things were kind and good, and for narrative purposes it’s important that Franck knows what parts of their past to hold onto and what parts to leave behind. Please think of this story as a _character study_ , though I do hope that the rest of the story is good for reflecting upon. What is current in @akchotesuggestion is what I stick with; this story exists to reflect how different it used to be.

**The Benediction (Chapter 01) - ' _Prologue_ '**

\-----

"I can't say this enough, Franck, but thank you so much for accompanying me here."

Franck Rivoire, journalist, was promptly awoken from a reverie at those words and glanced to his left. His companion was currently engrossed in driving, looking straight ahead at the road, but through the rear-view mirror Franck could still see the playful gleam in his eyes; he looked ever so elegant and self-certain, with sunglasses quirked atop dark wavy hair.

"And thank you for inviting me," was Franck's answer. He sat back and folded his hands atop his stomach, the eager pounding of his heart having calmed a little since the start of the drive. (But only a little.) "if it wasn't for our clothes, one would think we were on a _work trip_ , the two of us..."

His companion laughed and stole a secretive wink at the mirror. Franck wasn't even being farcical, which just made this excursion better: they really _had_ tried out the excuse that this was a work trip, and that was the _official_ reason for them taking five days' leave together, though they didn't think in full seriousness that anyone actually bought it. Franck was a journalist not quite six months into his job, and the man next to him was his co-worker - more broadly speaking, he wrote one of the columns in their newspaper, and also served as Franck's editor-in-charge. He'd helped Franck settle into the office of the newspaper they worked for, showing him the ropes and helping him network around the district, and they'd forged a professional relationship quickly because of it. They'd bonded fast and found each other good to work with; at least, that was about as much as they verbally let on, when they had to describe their relationship to anyone who asked. The actual relationship they shared would be a most _objectionable_ one by the standards of their office, but they had been blessed with particularly liberal staff, and as long as the work was being done people seemed more willing to turn a blind eye to it.

Neither of them cared all that much about it, anyway. They were new. They were at the stage where nothing could part them or prevent them from doing what they wanted, though the responsibilities of adulthood put up a good fight on that regard. Still, for five whole days there was nothing to worry about, and they were set on enjoying every second of their holiday.

They passed a road sign. Franck glanced at it and noted that they were very close to their destination. He had never been there, and so regarded this information with only a burst of cautious excitement; for the man next to him, however, things were slightly different for reasons he had not yet voiced to Franck.  
He was named Mike Lévy, although barely anyone thought that a fitting name for him. From when he was a child all the way through adulthood, he had never looked like a 'Mike' or even indeed a 'Monsieur Lévy'. Had he lived under those ill-suited titles forever, it would have been the most pitiful thing, but he was spared the fate by stumbling upon a penname early in his writing career. A biography of Einstein had inspired him, and so had his love of art in all of its forms - especially the grandiose, all-encompassing works of history, the purest essence of which seemed the Wagnerian _Gesamtkunstwerk._ He synthesized those two aspects together for good at twenty, and the resulting penname was what everyone called him now: _Gesaffelstein_ , without mention of title, his first name, or the last. That word alone was the essence, anything else would have made it superfluous. Not that this stopped people from thinking that he _was_ a superfluous man, of course, but he did what he could do to contain the spread.

It was partially why this trip was to be taken between just him and Franck. He had a lakeside cabin in Saint-Dizier that he was intent on spending his spring leave on; it had never been a question to him that he would take Franck along, for Gesaffelstein felt the sweetest tenderness towards him, but they were so new that Gesaffelstein had worried that he would seem too forward, overeager, altogether _poor_ of character, if he insisted that they go by themselves. He would have been happy to keep the cabin visit to a couple of days (the rest of his leave spent on dates with Franck, safely back in Paris), and maybe even invite others from the office along, if that was what made Franck feel more at ease.

But then, that was his _intention,_ not so much how things would work out in real life. Yes, they would have lent ear to his offer, but he knew that the answer could only be a collective 'no' during this time of the year - not to mention all the vanities of youth, the whims of old money, and inappropriate timing that would be assumed of him. On the long run, that wasn't going to bode well, even compared to simply slipping away with Franck.

It was a blessing that his new companion assumed no such things, at least. Franck Rivoire had merely considered the invitation with a distant stare and a few seconds of silence, before asking him if the lake had fish in it. "Yes," Gesaffelstein had answered, a little taken aback. "... but why do you ask?"

"I like to do a spot of fishing, that's all," a knowing pause. "are they... uh, _fishable_ fish? I wouldn't be breaking any laws to draw a carp from the lake now and then?"

Gesaffelstein admittedly didn't know. He loved the lake for its view, but he wasn't much of a fisherman, he was too impatient for it most of the time. Nevertheless, he researched it for Franck's sake, and when he reported back that fishing was absolutely possible Franck had seemed very tempted indeed. Coaxing him had been a very simple matter after that, as Franck seemed only too happy to be with him. It would have been one thing entirely for him to visit somewhere as tranquil as that lake for himself, let alone with Gesaffelstein, let alone left _alone_ with Gesaffelstein - but he'd shown no resistance to the idea at all, and if he'd assumed anything crude about Gesaffelstein's intentions he seemed unconcerned about it. And so it had been decided, their romantic getaway for the week, he could only hope that he wouldn't let Franck down.

"There it is - Franck - do you see it?"

Franck's face brightened as he took it in. They had reached the lake now, the expanse of it broad but all shores distinctly visible even from where they were. Gesaffelstein had told him that the lake had been artificially expanded sometime ago, but one wouldn't have thought to look at the place, so vast and devoid of human presence it was. There was a road running along the circumference of the lake (they were on it now), side roads veering off it occasionally; past the road and blossoming past the edges of the lake was a nice moorlike landscape, not especially green at this time of the year but strewn with trees and reeds and stretches of hyacinth. A few cabins like the one Gesaffelstein was taking them to stood out on the landscape, but the one less than fifty meters away from the shore was theirs, and what a splendid cabin it was!

"How beautiful!" Franck exclaimed, his breath misting the window slightly. Gesaffelstein just smiled and refrained from comment until they'd actually reached the cabin and parked there. "Oh, Gesa, what a view you have here!"

"Wait until the sun sets!" Gesaffelstein laughed, and shut off the engine, undoing his seat belt while Franck did the same. As he left the car he handed Franck a set of keys. "Please unlock the door for me, darling, it's the gold-topped one; let's get everything through the door first, and then I'll give you a tour."

This Franck obliged to, and with much eagerness. He had the cabin door opened within seconds and hurried back to help with the unloading, constantly stealing wonder-filled glances back towards the lake, and Gesaffelstein watched him, incredibly pleased with himself. Franck had always seemed to him like a resident of a world quite separate from everyone else's; his arrival at their workplace had been a welcome break to Gesaffelstein, who had been growing increasingly nervous of monotony in his own life. They were both at the age where they were expected to make compromises regarding the kind of things they wanted and the kind of things they were capable of (to settle down, to begin thinking of the broader future, as well as planning for it) but the difference between the two of them was that _Franck_ knew contentment in almost anything whatsoever. Simply put, amidst the slow chaos of the columnist's daily life, Franck was _soothing_ to be around. Gesaffelstein was not of an easily-relaxed temperament and the other felt to him a _blessing_ , not to mention that he'd rather liked the way Franck looked from the start, with his visage youthfully wild and non-predictable and altogether quite lovely.

And that'd been when Franck was new, nervous - thoroughly exhausted, from months of job searches - at best _budded.  
_ He'd really brightened up during the past few months. Gesaffelstein felt that he was looking at the real Franck at last, seeing him so glad to be here with him. It made him feel proud.

\-----

First they moved out their suitcases and the coolers that had been occupying the entirety of the back seat, and set them down on the ground. Franck's personal items were limited to what he had in the suitcase, fishing supplies, and a messenger bag with a netbook, his wallet, and his keys in it; upon Franck's insistence, they had his fishing supplies moved to the garage. Once this was done, Gesaffelstein let Franck take care of arranging the rod, bucket, and miscellaneous items in their proper places, while he took Franck's shoulder bag, his own laptop bag and a dark, smooth leather case indoors and into the bedroom. Some other minor things followed, though they were set just inside the doorstep. But other than that, once they'd rolled in suitcases and carried the coolers full of food and drink inside, their move in was as good as done. Actually unpacking anything would come with necessity and time. "This place is so nice," was Franck's first impression of the cabin, gazing into the doorway with awe as he waited for Gesaffelstein to reverse the car properly into the garage. "it looks like you have a lot of space here - good to entertain visitors in, for sure. Do you have visitors around often?"

Gesaffelstein turned off the engine and rolled the window back up. "Would you like to know the answer?" He asked as he stepped out of the car.

"Please."

He flashed a brilliant smile. "Truth be told, you are the first."

Franck paused. "Really?"

"Ever since I was the owner - yes, really."

The smile Franck gave at that was one Gesaffelstein could not help but adore. At this point in time Franck was capable of conveying dozens of emotions with his smiles - sometimes they were faintly condescending as he regarded an article he doubted the veracity of, sometimes _submissive_ in response to being reminded how much of a rookie he was, and then there were the curiously-mischievous smiles like these when Franck felt himself knee deep in secrets. A good look for a journalist, and indeed for anyone Gesaffelstein was courting. "Come, I'll show you around."

The cabin had plenty to look at, even though it was but a single-floor building. The outside was a soft robin's-egg blue with white highlights on the gables and windowsills. Nearby it was a small fire pit in the shape of a well, with two wooden chairs already set up for their arrival. When inquired as to who'd put the chairs out, Franck was told that that a caretaker cleaned and maintained the place once or twice every month - the last time he'd come (three days ago), Gesaffelstein had asked him to connect all electrical appliances to their usual places and make sure that everything was running smoothly, which included arranging the chairs in their places. "We'll have dinner out here tonight, for beauty's sake," he said, and took them further indoors.

The kitchen was small, but exactly right for two people to work side-by-side, and when Franck opened up the cupboards they had a sweet smell within them that spoke of well-aged wood. The fridge was working, and Gesaffelstein took a few seconds to check that the hot water was running in the sink as well. This kitchen and the living space were loosely connected, a dining table set up against the wall in the space between; the living room looked very cosy, with two armchairs and a sofa, as well as a classic fireplace built into the wall that had a small bucket of coals next to it. (The cabin was sparse in decorations, but Franck figured that it was because Gesaffelstein had only ever come here alone; he'd never had this cabin to _show off_ to other people in the first place.) As for the actual rooms, there was a bathroom which included a double towel rack, a white wash basin beneath the sink, and a large shower - big enough, in fact, that Franck immediately thought that it might make for a _cold_ shower if they didn't stand directly beneath the spray. (But that could be tested later.) The bedroom was clean and very bare at present, only a mattress set up on the large double bed, with all drawers and desks empty of belongings.

"We'll fill this up soon," Gesaffelstein sad, nodding. "the sheets and blankets are in there (pointing to a cupboard at the side) as well as the towels. Would you be all right sharing a wardrobe?"

"I assumed as much. I brought extra hangers already, just in case."

That brought a smile to Gesaffelstein's face. How could he _possibly_ resist someone as well-prepared as this? "Shall we go out the back, then?"

Franck nodded happily and took the other's arm. "I did glance out earlier, it's lovely. You've got some splendid greenery there, much richer than the rest of the lake."

"I'm glad you think so," Gesaffelstein beckoned Franck closer to the kitchen window, bidding that he look off to the side. " _greenery_ was exactly what it was, a long time ago, when this cabin was newly bought. And it was exactly the same kind as what you can see along the lake now. We put up fences - can you see them right there, yes, the bushes tend to hide it from this angle - and tamed it a little, and it's become quite a nice garden in the past few years. Do come and see."

A garden! But it was nature all around them already - a _garden_ , on top of it all?  
Franck wondered about the necessity of it. But he followed Gesaffelstein around to the back and conceded that the garden was not only distinct from the surroundings, but that it was a _very nice_ one indeed, with rich green bushes craftily concealing the fences behind them. Two metal poles with curved tops stood in the garden, one right in the middle and one closer to the back, the short rods and platforms protruding from them serving as mounting spots for bird feeders. When Franck examined one, he found the remnants of what seemed like fairly new seed, dry, unaffected by weather, apparently put out by the caretaker three days ago. "How often do those get filled up?"

"About twice per month. I'll top them up now, and one more time before we go."

Franck looked back to see that Gesaffelstein opening up one of the lower kitchen cupboards. There was a half-full bag of birdseed inside, which he took out, and picked up alongside a small white bucket he'd brought back from home. "Suet cakes," he explained cheerfully as he rejoined Franck in the garden. "the birds around here are really in for a treat as long as we're here. Shall we, Franck?"

They filled the bird feeders before they hung them back up, and placed the suet cakes upon the platforms. (Franck raised his eyebrows upon giving them a second glance, and realizing that the platforms had inward depressions to prevent the suet from slipping off.) It was still too early for birds when they were done, but the fact that there was food for them about made the garden seem homelier - perhaps even bursting with vitality. This was on top of the fact that the garden was flowering beautifully, though Franck took some time to appreciate them, as they were rather subdued for the season. Gesaffelstein kept no brightly-coloured plants here, no roses or tulips or anything in vibrant reds and yellows and whites - but lavenders grew on one side, succulent rosettes clustered neatly on the other, and the back of the garden was thick with dark violet oxalis. From that Franck confirmed that Gesaffelstein was a man who preferred a challenge above already tamed, pretty things; there was an air of _cultivated wildness_ here, treading a fine balance between nature and disarray. It wasn't what one would call formal, nor refined, but then Franck wouldn't have liked something as artificial as that. Too sculpted, with no actual place for birds or wild animals or curious houseguests.

It was a thought that gave Franck relief, knowing that Gesaffelstein thought the same. Gesaffelstein had been a male model for a short period of time before he'd come to work for this newspaper; he'd found the experience so loathsome that he barely talked about it even now, but from that time he'd developed a dislike of overt artificiality which carried onto every part of his life, down to business, art, and human interaction. To have Gesaffelstein's favour meant that he'd recognized one's authenticity in some way, whether the recipients knew about it or not. Franck was able to confirm this aspect of the man every time he was with him, and considering their line of work, it was a welcome break to not have to _bow down_ to words and glamour all the time. Knowing that, it made perfect sense that Gesaffelstein would have a small private hideaway like this, a place that he could show only to the people he trusted most and where he could get away from the pretenses of work for a while.

 _You are the first_ , he'd said. Franck sat down on the grass and leaned back, his hands supporting his weight on the ground, breathing in the luscious air. Coming first in regards to anything with Gesaffelstein was a very nice feeling. He looked over at his partner, who was now examining his flowers with proud delight, and called his name.

"Gesa?"

He might have responded with a 'yes?' as he turned around, but Franck wasn't focusing on that.  
As Gesaffelstein turned around, the clouds overhead drifted in front of the sun, its light concentrated through just the one gap as the clouds passed it by. Gesaffelstein was directly beneath its light when this happened, standing very close to the violet oxalis, the sunlight glancing curiously off the glossy leaves and the rich wavy curls of his hair. Franck was caught in a single second of breathless fascination where Gesaffelstein appeared to radiate light, the dips and shadows of his white shirt (unbuttoned at the collar) completely indistinguishable from one inch to the other, contrasting the wildflower-honey of his tanned skin beautifully. His eyes were as dark as a storm and the flowers behind him gleamed, so much that they looked almost painted on rather than grown; Franck could barely take it all in, he was so utterly mesmerized. Sometimes he saw visions, and colours that flickered in the corners of his eyes as if he'd shut them abruptly tight - this was like one of those moments, except that it was real, and Gesaffelstein looked more ethereal than Franck had ever known before.

He'd _always_ thought that Gesaffelstein was beautiful. Uncannily so. This second removed all doubt.

The man knew that he was being admired, he could tell. "What is it?" He asked quietly, just as the clouds shielded the sun again. But he didn't sound at all urgent, in fact rather amused, as he tilted his head at a different angle and smiled at Franck. "Did something happen?"

"No, no... I..." Franck shook his head, dazed. There probably wasn't a word in any language to describe what he had seen; best to keep it brief and accurate. "you were just... really handsome there, for a second."

Gesaffelstein raised his eyebrows. " _Only_ for a second?"

Well, that was that moment gone. Franck rolled his eyes playfully while the other man laughed a soft, flattered laugh - one that always thrilled Franck to hear it. "Seriously speaking, though, thank you," he said, taking a seat on the lawn opposite Franck and offering him his hand, palm up. "it's a different feeling, being called handsome when I'm _not_ actively dressed up, trying to sweep you off your feet, or exercising my _inconceivable_ vanity. It does wonders for my confidence, no lie."

"Implying that I've just fueled more of said inconceivable vanity?"

" _Implying_ ," Gesaffelstein repeated, deadpan, before a smile bloomed across his face - broad, sweet, somehow impeccably courteous. It took years off his appearance, and Gesaffelstein wasn't even that old to begin with. Franck reached out to caress the side of his face, fingers rasping softly against his stubble; not to be outdone, Gesaffelstein turned his head to kiss his fingertips, making Franck chuckle and fall forwards into an embrace. They stayed there until the thick clouds covered the sun up once again, and this time, they did not dissipate.

"How long until the birds?" Franck asked to break the silence. Gesaffelstein stood and offered out his hands, helping him back up before leading him inside.

"Give it a while. If they're early, we might see them during breakfast tomorrow. They come up really close... right up to the kitchen window, sometimes."

"How cute..."

"They really are," he agreed, though his eyes remained on Franck. "though you can see plenty from the dining table, too. We've got time. Speaking of which - could you please help me with the groceries, and then if you'd like..." he put an arm around his partner's shoulders, nuzzling his forehead affectionately. "... I could make some coffee for us? Relax for a little while."

"That sounds wonderful," Franck said, and kissed his lover's cheek.

\-----

When it was dinnertime, they sat around the fire pit as Gesaffelstein had suggested, in order to catch the sunset in its full glory. The fire pit had been well-maintained, and Gesaffelstein got it going at no time at all, with Franck admiring his handiwork from the side. "I haven't grilled anything here for some time," he confessed as he stood back, observing the fire pit closely in case anything was amiss; the sides were made of stone and well-sealed, and the fire sat down much lower than Franck had thought, which was nevertheless appropriate for cooking purposes. "please do forgive me if I end up burning anything, though I will try my damnedst to avoid it."

"I don't think you will," Franck said, and let out a sigh. Already the air smelled faintly of wood and smoke, right out of childhood. "did you build the fire pit yourself?"

"I did. I always loved a good fire."

Franck grinned. "I could tell. It looked quite new," he gestured to the edges of the fire pit, topped off with dark polished granite. " _elegant,_ too."

"Mm-hmm-hm..."

And there it was again, that lovely subdued laugh. Out of all the things about Gesaffelstein, it was his _laugh_ that he adored most, low and soft and so _even,_ regardless of the occasion. His laugh was so precious because it never failed to convey a sense of calm, regardless of if the way Gesaffelstein _talked_ matched the appropriate intentions. Franck loved to hear him talk nevertheless, but sometimes Gesaffelstein's tone came out sharp when he hadn't intended to be so at all - sometimes he faltered in words, panicked, or otherwise let slip his mask of utter collectedness, the emotional tone emerging in a high tenor that betrayed how young he truly was, and it fascinated the journalist to no end. (He wasn't much older than Franck, anyhow. It was a mere matter of _months_ between them.) He was so open about his feelings that Franck couldn't imagine this man would ever fall prey to violent emotions, no matter what he faced up against, and that was a trait he admired greatly in Gesaffelstein for he himself was the exact opposite.

When the fire was going strong they sat by it for a while, enjoying the mixed breeze and the smell of smoke. Dinner was prepared in time for them to see the sun sinking fiery beneath the horizon, its light nigh _melting_ gold and rich vermillion along the expanse of the lake before it. They didn't talk much, mostly because Franck was still acquainting himself to the surroundings: the brilliant view, the occasional silvery splashes that confirmed that fish was present (and what fish they must be!), how the skies glimmered gunmetal grey to provide a pleasing contrast to the sunset. Even the air felt different here, much cleaner, so cold and sweet that his lungs hurt to take it all in.

"Beautiful!" Franck exclaimed again, and Gesaffelstein nodded, pleased with the other's reaction.

The food was incredible, too. They'd grilled some vegetables alongside four chicken breasts wrapped in bacon (as well as a sprig of rosemary), and only went back inside to boil and drain some rice from the stove. Gesaffelstein ate like a prince, which was to say with the actual mannerisms of one: slow, quiet, every bite as ponderous and full of gravitas as it could be without it becoming ridiculous. Franck knew through experience that it often took him over an hour to finish a single course, and sometimes despaired at the knowledge; Franck himself could probably eat a full three-course meal in that amount of time and still leave himself plenty of time for coffee, though he was aware that this was not flattering to himself.

That was a part of how they'd grown so close, actually. Having multiple lunch breaks with this man had taught Franck a lot, and whatever Gesaffelstein had gleaned about Franck during those times had entranced him enough that he'd eventually made a move on him. Funny, how those things worked. Though being close to Gesaffelstein certainly allowed him to ask things that he might not have gotten away with before, such as:

"Do you ever become full before you finish the plate?"

Gesaffelstein was not even halfway through his meal when this question was posed. (Franck was about three quarters done.) Franck had wondered this ever since the first time he'd had occasion to eat with him, but it wouldn't have been proper to ask in the middle of _work_ ; there was still some momentary concern that Franck had overstepped boundaries, but it was dissipated without trace when Gesaffelstein laughed. "Everyone asks that after a time. Don't worry, I've a strong appetite. Would you like a little more?"

"Please, if that would be all right with you."

"It needs eating. There's plenty, Franck, do help yourself."

And so he did. A long comfortable silence stretched between them as they gazed back out towards the sunset; the skies had begun to take on a tinge of ultramarine before he spoke up again. "If not _visitors_ , strictly speaking... I was wondering if you might have spent time with your family here? I vaguely remember you telling me that this place was passed down to you."

"You recalled right," Gesaffelstein nodded, pausing for a forkful of rice and downing it with a sip of beer as he considered. "this cabin was my father's, though I shouldn't think he'd recognize it now. It didn't have a fire pit then, and it wasn't this colour either on the outside-" he gestured to the exterior of the cabin. "- that was me. It was all natural back then."

"Ah! So..."

"But as for family time... I don't know if it'd be _right_ to call it that," the man sighed, addressing the other half of Franck's question. "because this really was _his_ cabin, I'm afraid. I don't remember holidaying here save for a couple of times, and it was mostly during winter. Most of the time, I fear he was here to hide away from life for a while. God only knows what he was doing, but during the worst of it he was gone almost every month."

Franck hadn't known much about Gesaffelstein's family history, only that his parents had been strict people and that he was very distant from them. He immediately regretted asking such a personal thing of him and opened his mouth to apologize, though Gesaffelstein shook his head. "When he moved out of France and passed the cabin onto me, I think he expected me to do better things with it. Though..." he paused there for a bite of his food, taking an entire minute to chew his mouthful, his brows creased in thought. "... I don't think I have a good track record for that. Not so far, anyway."

Franck set down his plate. He was silent as he moved closer to Gesaffelstein, his hand drifting atop the other's, squeezing slightly in support. Gesaffelstein reciprocated the touch, but for once he did not look at Franck as he did so, his expression a million miles away.  
Something never before voiced was about to be confessed.

"I hid out here, you know," he said quietly, gazing into the fire-flecks. "during the revolution."

He stumbled on the word. Franck's grip tightened on his hand. The fire crackled in between the silence. When he resumed, his voice was cautious, slow, and searching.

"... I was... still working as a model then. Vogue wanted me to come to Lyon for a session... I never made it down there. Half an hour after I left Paris the news hit the radio - I don't know if you'd heard it at the time, you remember, the attempted assassination of the then-President - and shortly afterwards, of the uprising. I knew then I wasn't going to be able to return any time soon," he stopped there, and frowned, staring into the fire for however long before he caught himself again. "... If you're by yourself... and unprepared... you generally shouldn't try to do such things as _running away on your own_. Not during a time of conflict. That much I knew. I called my friends. Some answered, some didn't. Some were out of Paris and safe, but too far away for me to reach. Some were sealed in their homes. All survived, by the way," he smiled weakly at that point. "... though I don't think we were ever the same, no more than anyone in Paris is right now."

"What did you do then?" Franck whispered. Gesaffelstein looked back at him for the first time since he'd begun his tale, and let out a quiet distressed sound as he wrapped an arm around Franck and kissed him on the forehead. "Please don't worry about me, I... I'd like to hear it. If you want to talk about it, of course."

"Thank you. I'd like to try, at least," Gesaffelstein sighed. "I thought about continuing to Lyon, but I couldn't trust being on the road for that long. So I doubled back and changed course to Saint-Dizier while I still could - I hadn't anywhere else to go, you see. Stopped by the nearest village and stocked up on almost a month's worth of food, while I could still trust the news to travel slow. And then... well, it's as I said. I locked myself in this cabin and waited for the end to come."

Franck's grip tightened on him. Only at this point did the sheer loneliness of Gesaffelstein's situation sunk in; Franck had not been in Paris during this time, spending his days nervously attending college and shutting himself away in his room every evening, but there had always been someone near him. Perhaps not necessarily someone to _talk_ to, but there had been a choice of company. As much as Franck liked to be alone, his situation had not been comparable to having to hide away all by himself - with no way to contact anyone, nowhere else to go, and in serious perpetual fear for his life. And Gesaffelstein had been forced into this without any warning at all, Franck couldn't imagine that he'd have had time to prepare for comfort; that was an objectively terrible situation, no matter the person involved, to be frightened and alone amidst violence with no way to see how it was spreading. Saint-Dizier was but two hours away from Paris.

"That was the year when I'd renovated this cabin to something I could actually have an ideal holiday in... My first stay after the renovation was anything but. I had almost no news of the outside world; the phone signal was nonexistent here at the time, no radio either. And for over a week I didn't know if I ought to risk driving back down to the village, because I had no way of knowing if it was _safe_ , or whether it would be occupied by the right forces if it was surrounded already. The last piece of news I'd heard before I lost the signal mentioned something about the declaration of martial law over France... Who knows what was really going on?"

Alas for him, Franck couldn't answer that. No civilian in the new France could. And Gesaffelstein hadn't meant it in any other sense than the rhetorical, either; his demeanour betrayed that he had never been able to find a satisfactory answer to that question, no matter how hard and often he'd searched, and that perhaps his career move had been motivated entirely by this experience.  
Gesaffelstein raised his head and stared out into the lake. Franck followed his gaze into the rapidly-blackening expanse ahead of them. And it was all that was _unsaid_ about this one gesture, the faraway look in his eyes and the fine tremor edging his lips for all of a second, that suddenly chilled Franck to the bone; even _that_ was no more than an inferior reflection of the absolute terror that Gesaffelstein must have felt, staring at this night after sleepless night, wondering whether the end was nigh -

"Gesa...?"

\- or whether it was waiting for _him_ to end it all, the temptation lurking in the lake's silent depths.

"How... did you know it was all right to leave?"

That seemed to bring him out of it, at least. Gesaffelstein blinked and slowly turned back to Franck, blank-faced for a second before his features softened again. If anything, he sounded calmer than before as he resumed, as if he hadn't just been flashing back to thoughts of suicide mere seconds ago. "Eventually, other people who'd had the same idea as me came to the lake. An older couple. They'd been out of the country, and their flight due for Charles de Gaulle had been canceled, though I don't think they closed the airspace proper during the revolution... Anyway, they drove all the way home from Berlin on a rented car and bribed the border guards to get in, before they decided to hide out in Saint-Dizier like me," he smiled weakly again. "I know it's never been _legal_ , but... I kind of miss those days, when you could just pay for your passage. There's not enough of that now. But we coalesced, and that's how we all figured out what was going on outside."

He paused again to finish off the final bite of his chicken, washing it down with the last of his beer. Franck was quiet, reflecting on it all. "When we met, the revolution was on its last legs, or so we discovered; this was about the time when negotiations were ongoing, and they weren't burning Paris to the ground anymore. By that point I'd been getting so desperate that their company was like light itself - they used to have that cabin further up there-" Gesaffelstein pointed to the right-hand side of the lake, though it was too dark to see that far. "- you'll be able to see it in the morning. I don't think they're around now, but the couple's cabin was much better stocked, I remember. Survivalists. We traded some supplies, and I later took them back home, when the roadblocks were down and the city unsealed."

"And then?"

"I returned home. My street was unscathed," pause. "Vogue had been trying to get in touch. I told them to leave me be, though... ah... I fear I was not as _polite_ as I make myself sound," they _both_ managed a wry smile at that. "I stopped being a model altogether eventually. I networked until I found this job. And then..."

Franck leaned in.

"Then I met you," he finished, and pulled Franck rather abruptly to his chest, kissing the top of his head with aching heart and urgency. "... Franck, darling... I've told you this because I trust you to keep my secret. I only want happy memories here now. And I'd be nothing short of _honoured_ , if you would be a part of them."

"Of course," Franck said quietly. "thank you for trusting me with this, I never could have imagined. Oh, _Gesa_..."

"I'm all right now, at least," Gesaffelstein kissed him again, still plaintive; but his face had relaxed ever so slightly, and the light in his eyes had returned to its place. "... you weren't hurt at the time, right? No one got to you or anyone else?"

"I was safe in Lyon."

" _Good_ ," he said emphatically. "I won't allow anyone to hurt you. _Never_ you. We're going to keep it that way, yes?"

Franck rested his head against the crook of Gesaffelstein's neck in response, knowing that he could offer no better comfort in speech. Strange to say it, but hearing the man's confession had had some opposing effects: the way Franck had thought of Gesaffelstein's mysterious past (with an air of cautious, mostly positive wonder) had changed a little, but they were both _much_ more relaxed in the wake of it, perhaps even more so than if they'd exchanged sweet nothings all the way through their stay. He wasn't just the first visitor Gesaffelstein had entertained here, but the first person he'd opened up to about this harsh, vulnerable time in his life - implying, in turn, that before Franck he had trusted nobody to the same extent. That was of a vastly different magnitude to simply being Gesaffelstein's first for _anything_ , as Franck had thought lightheartedly in the garden mere hours ago. He was curiously humbled, and at the same time, _honoured_ , as Gesaffelstein had said.

"Darling?"

"Hmm?"

"... Do you think you're done with dinner now?"

Franck blinked and looked back at his plate, cleared and cold. "Yes. It was lovely, thank you."

Gesaffelstein gave him a wry grin.

"Then might I have the rest of this?" He asked, pointing to the few vegetables and the other chicken breast still left on the warm grill.  
So much for slow eating or dark moods, the man really _did_ have a strong appetite; he'd cleared the whole plate while they were talking, and he went back for seconds to boot.

\-----

They didn't do very much after that, simply focusing on getting settled and unpacking their suitcases. The bed had been left stripped bare from the last time Gesaffelstein had stayed there, and Franck helped to make the bed while Gesaffelstein took out the thicker duvet and pillows from the storage cupboard. "It still gets chilly at night," he explained as they put the cover on and fluffed both the duvet and the pillows upon the bed. "there's a lighter blanket for summer, but we can throw that on too if you feel like it's too cold later on."

"I'll keep that in mind," Franck replied, but doubted that they'd need it. They'd keep each other warm enough if the duvet didn't, and if he'd read correctly into Gesaffelstein's intentions. They were both tired from the journey and agreed on having an early night: Franck got ready first, with Gesaffelstein pouring himself a small amount of brandy as a nightcap, and while the other turned out the lights and readied _himself_ for bed, Franck made his way under the covers with a long sigh and a content stretch. It was plenty warm in there, and the bed was very soft, ensuring a good night's sleep for all involved.

"Mm," he murmured, eyes closed, his hands comfortably resting beneath his head. He stayed like that until he registered that Gesaffelstein had been quiet for a while. He opened his eyes in time to see the man pulling back his side of the covers and sitting down on the bed, but he didn't lie down as Franck had, looking instead as if he wanted to _ask_ something. "Gesa? Is something the matter?"

Gesaffelstein hesitated a little before he spoke. "May I kiss you before we sleep?"

Franck could have laughed - though he was, by no means, intending to mock the other. These were such _lovely_ words, that was all, so plaintive and longing. Franck had not had occasion to feel so sought after in a long time. "You may," he said, and gave him a soft smile before he closed his eyes and tilted his mouth to meet Gesaffelstein's own.

Gesaffelstein's weight paused, and slowly settled over Franck's body. He tasted of brandy and lavender honey, and Franck let out a breathy laugh as a familiar spicy flavour spread thinly against the tip of his tongue; Gesaffelstein had swirled a cinnamon stick into his nightcap while nobody was looking, the sweet and extravagant creature he was, treating his lover to the delicious aftertaste. Franck thought he'd never tasted anything so right before. He'd noticed Franck's appreciation, too, from the way he lifted his hand to stroke Franck's hair - not to mention the soft huff of air against his lips as Gesaffelstein's breath caught partway through, trying to savour as much of the kiss as possible before they ran out of air altogether. When he had to stop, he pulled away from Franck, but only marginally so; in lieu of seeking out his mouth, he raised one of Franck's hands to his lips and pressed a warm, slightly moist kiss to his palm, before folding his fingers closed as if to trap his warmth within.

He was a gentleman when it came to those. Small touches and kisses against skin he gave freely, but he would usually ask when he wanted to kiss Franck in the proper sense. It was part of them _taking it slow_ , as he'd promised when Franck had first accepted his courtship, and he appreciated it very much. "Wow," Franck murmured, a little dazed, and was treated to cheerful laughter. Only then did Gesaffelstein lie down properly, his dark curls mussed against the pillow as he sank back on it and sighed, his gaze soft and sleepy.

"... I can't believe that we're here, still," he murmured. "together. _Alone_."

"Neither can I," Franck responded in turn, moving closer to Gesaffelstein when he was beckoned so that he could rest his head upon the man's shoulder. "... thank you for bringing me here, I'd never have known that a place like this existed otherwise. And I wish I could put what I feel in simpler terms, but..."

"My goodness, I don't want simple," Gesaffelstein chuckled. His fingers danced warm down Franck's shoulder and chest, before he grasped the covers, and pulled them up to snugly cover them both. The resulting warmth was so immediate that Franck felt his body relax into it at once. Sleep drifted over his eyelids before he could add anything to Gesaffelstein's words, and the last thing he heard before he was enveloped in the other's embrace was this: "I want a goddamned _labyrinth_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are five more chapters to go. This was really just the beginning.  
> Please leave a review [via Tumblr](http://akchotesuggestion.tumblr.com/ask) or on here if you enjoyed the story!


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